[ Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash]
(This is really a set of tales from all over Kentucky, North Carolina, Tennessee, Iowa and Oklahoma)
I’ve had many occasions to deal with snakes in my life. Partially because I lived in the country quite a bit growing up and because I’m a fisherman, I’ve had more opportunities than many to see them and deal with them. I thank my God that I’ve never been bitten and I pray that is always true.
My first occasions to deal with them came with pythons in the Philippines. I was two, so I just remember seeing them and letting adults deal with them (see Tales from the Heat). More distinct memories came from about age 7 on when we moved to the mountains of western North Carolina. I can discuss my many occasions to see or deal with copperheads or rattlesnakes, but it’s the water moccasins that stand out more.
Dealing with water moccasins and other water snakes is where I got the label “snake whisperer” from my wife and kids. Now, trust me, I know how aggressive water moccasins can be and I’m very careful around them. I remember seeing a documentary/nature show where a guy fashioned a mannequin leg with a boot and went stomping down trails with it near snakes. The copperhead was the most patient and the water moccasin the least. That’s generally what I’ve seen too. It makes me very thankful for the protection and blessings I’ve always been afforded around them.
The most vivid childhood memory of a snake encounter I have is from a time in our garden in Unaka, North Carolina when I was about 8 or 9. My mom and I were hoeing and weeding about an acre of property when I heard her yell. She was about 40 yards away from me and I took off running towards her with my hoe (side note: a hoe is the best weapon against a deadly snake attack outside of a gun). I wasn’t going to get there in time, but I’m thankful she had it handled. I just remember seeing the snake in the air about three feet off the ground striking at her with its mouth agape and fangs fully out.
Now bear in mind, my mom was all of about 5’2” and about 105 pounds. She was fighting for her life. So was the snake, but he lost. I saw her make the most athletically perfect move of her life. Her swing attack with that hoe took him out. She got him right behind the head with the blade of the hoe and down he went. As I got there she was scooping it up with the hoe and dragging it up to the house. If you’ve ever seen a snake die, they kind of flop around crazy and bite at themselves (and are still dangerous), but they can’t move right when that head has been effectively separated from the body.
I asked her if she wanted me to dispose of it in the creek where a raccoon could eat the meat. She said “no, I want your dad to see what I had to deal with today.” She wasn’t too happy. She then marched into the house where she promptly collapsed on the couch for about a half an hour’s rest. I think she quit dealing with snakes from that day on and sent me out to deal with them when needed thereafter.
I have never handled snakes, except in a petting zoo, but I have learned to talk to them and direct them. Yes, they will listen (not to your words, but your tone) and watch you, and they do have a certain instinctive understanding of warnings and even directions. The science on this is sound, I’ve studied it. They don’t have external ears, but their jawbone feels vibrations. Further, if you point at them, they will look at your pointing finger. You then point to a path of escape and they will generally take it.
My first experience with talking to them and pointing at them was with a small water snake (15 to 16 inches long and less than an inch around). He was swimming by a point where I was fishing and started heading my way as if to come out of the water. I pointed at him until I saw him focus on my pointing finger and said loudly, “If you come out, you die.” I pointed away from me and said, “Keep moving.” He watched my hand and tilted his head the way I pointed towards. Then, he dipped into the water and went the way I pointed. About four feet away he popped up his head and looked back at me. I repeated the warning and pointed further away. He put his head down and went on.
Since that time, I’ve used that technique on larger and larger snakes. For the most part, it’s worked pretty well. I think they have a general understanding that you are a much larger creature than they are and that you are giving them a way out. They understand territorialism, I think, to a certain degree.
On a separate occassion, a much larger water snake came up in another lake about 8 to 10 feet out from me and was resisting the idea of leaving when I pointed at him and then away. He slowed down, but still wanted to come out where I was at and started to proceed again. That ended when I lifted a hoe up in the air for him to see. He took a look at the raised hoe in the air and turned and went away. I would argue that they can assess risk and while I wasn’t enough to scare him, the hoe in my hand was. After telling a couple of those tales to my wife and kids, I got labeled “The Snake Whisperer.” Call me what you want, I’m happy as long as the snakes are running away from and not towards me.
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Why not try the next story in this series? Tales from North Carolina #2: The Owl Event
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